


Green

by spindleofwords



Series: It Takes Them Four Years and Maybe Nearly Dying [7]
Category: Static Shock
Genre: Frottage, I give you two new works in apology my lovelies, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Makeouts, Sloppy Makeouts, here have these, sarcastic!Sharon, snappy!Sharon, sorry for Virgil's stupidity, stuff will start heating up next couple of works just a fair warning, the boys make up here okay I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindleofwords/pseuds/spindleofwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody finally gets what they're after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If I Could Hear You Talk

JUNIOR YEAR: Green

The argument they have over costumes is enormous, the biggest yet; starts on a Tuesday and takes a week to settle and decombust. Rich hates the color Virgil chose, and leaves the station in a huff after a ten minute long shouting match. 

Virgil hesitantly offers another design a week later, if Richie will drop by the house after school.

When the dust cleared, Richie was brushing lint off of the surprisingly well made purple and yellow jacket and trying not to fit his palms into the siren call of V’s hair. The dreadlocked teen cleared his throat and caught Richie’s eye in the mirror, looking mildly annoyed and itching for another argument. 

“You mind, Osgood?”

Richie’s eyes went dark as his grip tightened briefly on the line of Virgil’s shoulders. “Nah, I don’t.”

“Richie…”

That kind of order, that small sound of a keen, it made Richie want to grab Virgil’s hips so hard it bruised. Pale hands rose instead, in surrender, as Rich backed away a little and moved to share the mirror with his friend. 

Idly, as he looked at his own green circuited suit, the blonde wondered when Virgil had learned how to sew, but something told him not to ask. They’d been volatile together lately, frustration building up easily as if they needed a good fight to unwind each other, but it wasn’t all bad. The Bang had definitely created plenty of super-punks for the pair of them to fight, and Richie was almost grateful for their extra angry energy when it meant they could pull all nighters three days in a row and still make school at a decent hour. He was definitely grateful that it left them exhausted enough that they didn’t have to speak with each other. (He carefully didn’t think about why exactly he felt violent around V.)

And Richie wasn’t stupid; he had known why they couldn’t stand to be around each other the way they used to. The blonde had been telling himself that it was because they were learning how to mesh with each other again— that the year apart had really changed them both and they were trying to make new edges fit— but in the middle of the night, on Virgil’s floor in a sleeping bag or crashing on the couch in the gas station or crashing in V’s bed together, Richie was old enough to admit that it was probably because they wanted to fuck each other senseless. 

It was new to Virgil, Rich could tell. They had grown up in each other’s pockets, Richie knew what got V’s motor running and knew the look he got on his face when he was at a full tank of gas, but it had always been for girls before. V had never allowed himself to look at another guy like that. Stretching had never put that on his face before, and neither had working on his gadgetry without a shirt on. But there V was all the time, spread fluidly over the couch like a damn centerfold, watching Richie work with dark, dark eyes. The confusion came fast on its heels every time, too, a cute wrinkle to his nose and shy glances as Virgil swung his legs back to the floor, tried to busy himself with something else.

But nothing should’ve changed for Richie. He had always wanted that, and he had always known that, but it had been...doubled, or something, by the night of the Big Bang. Something about Virgil almost losing his life had made Richie’s inner animal grab tightly to the idea of his friend and he had yet to figure out how to separate himself without going a little crazy.

 

And he had gone a little crazy, but not without goading from Virgil. What had happened, it was a two way street. Richie was still picking up the pieces after that fight even though it had been a month ago.

 

“You don’t look half bad, Rich.”

The flat, blank stare in the mirror was his own; when he refocused on Virgil, he found the teen had moved behind him and the warm line of V at his back made Richie suppress a shiver. “Yeah? All I get’s a ‘not bad’?” 

He had been trying for teasing, maybe even mocking, something friendly and open in a way they hadn’t been lately. But his voice was a low, crawling thing, had dropped down on all fours and was slinking without permission. Virgil got that look in his eyes that Richie had only seen once before, and took a step closer.

“Gotta earn anything else, Richie. Don’t you think?”

A gap of five inches. Virgil leaned forward just a little bit and it put his chin right over Richie’s shoulder, made him close enough that Richie’s skin lit up with the sensation of V’s dreads trailing across it, gave his back the solid weight of V’s chest behind him without actually giving him the feel of it against his back. Richie sucked in a breath, eyes narrowed and pinned by Virgil’s in the mirror. That look he kept giving Rich, it was a fucking _challenge._ Virgil probably didn’t even know he was doing it, that he had been doing it for an entire month even when they were arguing, but Richie wanted to spank it off of him.

“I think I might deserve it on principle, Hawkins.”

Virgil had the nerve to huff a laugh in Richie’s ear, the sound smooth and his lips too damn close to the shell of it. He took one step closer and Rich felt hyper aware of it, knew there must be something like a three inch gap between them and realized in a moment of small hysteria that this was the closest they had been since that night without being injured. With a helpless feeling, Richie swayed back into the gravity of Virgil and almost gasped when they connected, a small brush of his shoulder against V’s chest. 

In the mirror, Virgil’s eyes dilated.

A door closed loudly downstairs and— this was usually where they might’ve sprung apart, caught red-faced by each other, but Virgil stood his ground and that’s when Richie felt his eyes grow wider. He could only watch as Virgil turned slightly, his nose brushing the pale shell of ear now as he murmured, "We okay?"

"Shit, man," Richie breathed, "we’re not. I...you know that."

Virgil swallowed, his nose brushing just behind Richie's ear now, soft passes that jolted through the blonde each time they happened. "Yeah, Rich. I know."

"Jesus, V—"

The blonde felt powerless in this position, an odd feeling that he didn't think he'd really have again. Richie couldn't have moved even if Sharon had come up the stairs and slammed open the door, not with Virgil's lips making the barest of passes on Richie's skin as the darker teen nuzzled into the crook of his friend's neck. Instead, Richie leant back into Virgil's space completely and closed his eyes with a soft noise. It felt a little silly, for his head to loll back into Virgil's shoulder, but all the other boy did to accommodate his weight was step even closer.

When V's arm came up to circle his waist, he almost wanted to cry, it felt so good.

"Richie, I...I know I haven't apologized properly for last year, or last month. And I know you weren't looking for an apology but, you deserve one, man, just for puttin' up with my bullheadedness, you feel me?"

Virgil stopped and took a deep breath, arm tightening around Richie's waist before he let go. Pressing a small kiss to the back of Richie's ear, he pulled away completely, waiting until he had Richie's gaze in the mirror again. "I ain't running from this talk any more, man. I'm open to whatever you want to discuss, whatever you want to ask."

Richie nodded silently, beet red from hairline to collar as he met V's gaze in the glass, skin tingling-- probably from too much static electricity in that air, he thought with an edge of hysteria. 

"Understood, V."

With a nod, Virgil headed to the bathroom to change, darting a quick glance out of his room to check for Sharon before slipping into the hallway.  
In the mirror Richie looked down at all the green, spans and spans of it, and determinedly didn't look at his own blush. The dark green of the mimicked circuits looked stark and good against the mint, something Richie wouldn't have thought of but, as he remembered fondly, it was something V had thought up one night while looking at a pair of his sister's heels. 

He shoved sappy-ass thoughts of new beginnings from his mind with a wry grin at himself in the cool glass. Richie wouldn't have changed their beginning for anything. It was the denouement they needed to hash out.


	2. I'd Be Better at Telling You

They were changing quietly to some hip hop in the background, V’s computer screen dark on the desk, when Richie paused putting on his tee. Virgil was shirtless, hanging back the jacket and pants he’d chosen out for his own supering costume, and when the other reached up to place something on the closet shelf the muscles of his back rippled. The blonde felt himself swallow hard, and as Virgil looked back over to him and caught his eye Richie ducked his head, fiddling with the blue cotton before tugging it over his head. 

The sound of V laughing was easy on his ears but hard on his heart, some soft little chuckle that somehow had the power to knock Richie’s balances off. Polishing off his glasses, Rich looked up, catching those bister eyes again and holding them.

“So. Um. I...I can ask any question I want?”

Virgil’s smile fell a little, face morphing into something a little more serious, but he nodded all the same. “Yeah, Rich. That was the deal. I don’t know exactly what you want to know about, so.”

The blonde blew out a small breath, rubbing at his forehead. “Well,” he started slowly, trying to structure his thoughts, “let’s, uh, let’s start with easiest first. Last school year? I didn’t see much of ya, V. Though I guess that was partly my fault, too, so. Can...I want to know why, actually. Why?"

Virgil's open face had lost any of the happiness he'd had before, forehead creasing with a frown. He ran a hand through his dreads and Richie could see he was trying to figure out the words to say. After a moment, his voice rang through the room, tone serious.

"I felt thrown away, Rich. Easiest way to describe it, man, I was smartin' over you. People suddenly discovered how great you were and wanted you all the time, and I...they all came late to the party, you know? So I was feeling down about it, but you were making it, Osgood. You were makin' it, in all them clubs you were in. I couldn't just...bring you down 'cause I felt jealous of other peeps."

He paused, then, hearing himself talk, and Richie's glance traced the flush down the lighter part of Virgil's chest, noticing how uncomfortable he looked and consciously aware of how tense the other was.

"Virg," Richie murmured, "it was nice to be wanted, don't get me wrong, but you know you're my preference, right? I had clubs, sure, but days I didn't have clubs you were nowhere to be found. I started taking more stuff so I didn't have to spend time without you."

And those eyes, when Richie found them again. Virgil was so difficult to read, shifting expressions in his eyes but nothing but a somber set to his mouth. Christ, his fucking mouth; Richie had a moment of vision loss, could feel Virgil’s lips give under his, the wall against V’s back and under his own palms when he pushed the dreadlocked male up against the flat of his room. That roiling thought got shoved under lock and key, but not before Richie saw his friend break eye contact, gaze tracing the closet door with hesitancy. Clearing his throat, the genius fiddled with his tee hem, knowing Virgil had probably seen that desire written all over his face. It was quiet except the low music and the sounds of Sharon puttering around downstairs until slowly, Virgil’s voice filled the space between them again, his tone soft and secretive. 

“Are you serious, Richie? I’d have traded all that to keep stuck to you like glue. You just, I dunno, had a fancy new life and friends and machines, and I was angry. I was mad that it was happening without me, somehow I thought it would happen for both of us, at the same time. Now you’re a hotshot and I’m still some nobody with you.”

He chuckled self-deprecatingly at the end with a shrug, as if somehow that would make it seem less sad of a thought, and Richie took a few steps closer, daring to clasp V’s shoulder gently. Somewhere in there was _Rich, you shoulda just asked me,_ and Rich felt like kicking himself. There was definitely blame on both sides of the field. 

“Man, nothing’s happening for me. It couldn’t really, without you there. Besides, I’m the sidekick according to the news, so maybe you should learn to be okay with it? You’re boss-man out in the field.” The smile he got was worth surmounting the fear he’d had of touching Virgil and breaking the spell. After Virg shoved him good-naturedly, Richie grinned back and continued with a voice that was almost steady, a fact that he was immensely proud of. 

“Second item on the list, then; Virgil, when did I become a thing? When, when did you decide to want me? Why did you— do you, even, why do you— want me?”

With his hand still on V’s shoulder, the skin dark and soft and inviting under his palm, Richie could feel the trapezius muscle of Virgil’s neck stiffen and panicked inwardly. Maybe they weren’t ready for this question, maybe their relationship couldn’t handle it, maybe they were fucking doomed, and V was never gonna speak to Rich again, adios, goodbye, do not pass go. He almost flinched when Virgil fit a careful hand around his jaw, bringing him a little closer so that Richie couldn’t look anywhere but him. 

“When? I dunno, man, probably from sophomore year, but I’m such a moron I never even realized it until last year, around the time of the Bang. And why? Rich, Richie, I don’t know, okay, you’re here and I didn’t know I needed you here until you weren’t here, and that sounds stupid as fuck but it’s the truth. I need you, man. That’s why.”

Such gorgeous words; Virgil breathed them out against Richie’s pink lips and Richie wanted to kiss him right there, just accept the reasons and move on to fucking him, there was a bed or even a chair or maybe against the wall, just any way Rich could have him. 

But there was still a knot of anger coiled tightly in his sternum, sitting on top of diaphragm and eating through the muscles with an unforgiving burn. Biting his lip, the cream-colored teen pushed away from Virgil slightly, feeling his hands shake and strengthening his resolve. He had to know the full story, he had to know what Virgil was thinking because he’d been in this too long not to take it as slow as it deserved to go, and Richie deserved some fucking answers.

“But if all that’s true, why did you push me away, V? You started it, dammit, and you just shoved me off of you because all of a sudden you couldn’t handle kissing a dude and you were fucking afraid or something—”

“I **was** afraid, it’s you, Richie, it’s you and you’re amazing and I’m gonna screw it all up—”

“—and it really hurt, man, that hurt, it was every nightmare I’ve had for years wrapped up in one experience—”

“— so badly, I’ve already screwed it up but it felt so good, Rich, you gotta believe me, I just want to do it again but I’m fucking terrified—”

“—of seared in memory because I don’t forget shit anymore, I can’t, it’s the Bang juice, and you know that, V, you know that and you still—”

“—that I can’t be good for you, I can’t satisfy you, and I ran and you deserve so much better. You don’t deserve just me, and I don’t deserve— ”

“—did it, how could you? ...What? Wait, wait.”

Richie peered at the teen standing face to face with him, head tilted to the side and his face red with righteous anger. The body language V was giving off sent red alarms all through Richie’s friend-sense, no matter how angry he was. Virgil was trembling, eyes wide and body curved in like he needed to protect himself. For a moment, the blonde toyed with the idea of letting Virg down gently and helping him with physical touches, but it wasn’t really an option. Any moment Sharon was gonna run up the steps to check on their shouting match, but Richie had at least three minutes before she turned off the stove, made it across the living room, and sauntered up in her heels. He used them to frame V’s face, looking him firmly in the eyes.

“Better? You think I want anything better than you? Virgil Hawkins. If it’s not you, it ain’t better. Don’t tell me that’s the reason you pussied out on me.”

Virgil looked stunned, then, and (Richie noted smugly) a little turned on, gears whirring in his head as that motor of his started running.

“R-Rich—”

“Oops, hold that thought.” 

Devilishly, Richie took four large steps back from him and started searching for his shoes in the pile of clothes that Virgil had near his closet. The door behind him opened and he could hear Virgil startle, some adorable squeak that was so high it was barely noticeable. Sharon, the blonde knew, would be just about breathing fire, face suspicious and eyebrow raised. Sure enough, her voice cut through the heaviness of the room.

“Everything better be all right up here, _Virgil._ ”

A split second of silence, but Richie was relieved to hear V slip into it as easy as anything. “It’s all fine, woman. Stop botherin’ us.”

From the door, Richie made a noncommittal noise, standing with his socks in hand. “He says it’s fine, but you know it’s not really fine until you grace my presence, Sharon.” The grin he leveled at her was wide and shit-eating, and she stuck her tongue out at him and then pointed at Virg, nail sharp and curved and baby pink.

“Don’t let me hear any more of that noise up here, little brother. I’ll have Dad chew you out when he gets home if I do.”

“Don’t worry,” Richie smirked, hooking an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and ruffling his well-kept dreads. “I got him for ya, dear.”

Sharon left with a glare and an eyeroll, closing the door pointedly behind her as if to shut them out of her space with just the wooden barrier. 

As soon as the door closed Richie could feel the tension rush back into the room again, drawing the breath out of him and out of V in careful, practiced motions, and he tried to swallow past how breathless he felt, almost giddy on the lack of air and the expansion of need in his lean frame. Virgil tried to take a step out of Rich’s arm, breathing hard already, and Richie only chuckled as he slid his arm down just above the swell of Virgil’s admittedly gorgeous ass, hand splayed loosely over the meaty part of V’s leg as the grip tightened.

“Going somewhere, Hawkins?”

V swallowed hard, eyes wide again. “I— Rich, this is a little sudden. I just apologize, and we hunky-dory again? And we just get on to making out?”

Richie paused thoughtfully, rolling his eyes mockingly to the ceiling to see if he could find the answers to Virgil’s questions there. “Well, let’s see. Anything you want to ask me?”

“I mean, no,not reall—”

“Then,” the genius interrupted, refocusing wickedly on his friend, “do you have any protests or stipulations?”

Virgil coughed, ducking his gaze so that Richie couldn’t see him flush although the blonde had guessed at the reaction anyways. “No protest here. Just...go easy on me? I...you’re intense, and it felt…”

The other teen grinned. “Oh, babe, you have no _idea._ But sure. I don’t wanna scare you off again.”

And then Richie’s confidence was melting, because Virgil looked up at him with such an endearing face, all wide-eyed and turned on and breathless and, to Richie’s very fleet-footed demise, trusting. His fingers had cupped V’s jaw without Rich being aware of it, pressing gently into his neck and the thumbpad sweeping over the line of the darker man’s cheek; Virgil shifted into the touch, eyes closing in simple enjoyment of the the feeling. Leaning in, the blonde brought his lips slowly and gently over Virgil’s, reveling in the sweet feel of just Virg’s body against his own, brushing against him teasingly. “Slow enough for you?”

The electric teen opened his eyes just enough to look the other in the eyes as Richie murmured against his mouth, and bit at Richie’s lower lip slow and with intent, pulling outwards before sucking it into his mouth and releasing. “Slow enough for anybody, actually, Foley. Gonna make sure I feel everything you do to me?”

Richie smiled dazzlingly, nose brushing along V’s. “Get on the bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! But, I'm working on the next chapter already, and it'll definitely be a blazer, folks :) If anyone's not super comfortable with makeouts, I would suggest skipping the next chapter, but if that's your thing please, my friend, be about it, because I am most CERTAINLY about it. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the lovely amount of support! If you've got questions or concrit don't hesitate to comment, I'd love to hear how to make my writing better like always!


	3. Just How Much You Make Me Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go, folks. This is way too long and I'm almost sorry but the muses (pair of little nonsense children that they are) don't apologize, so. 
> 
> Warning: it gets hot and steamy here. If you'd rather not, then please skip to the next chapter. This one is literally all inappropriate behavior.

They don’t fuck, in Virgil’s queen sized bed on a Tuesday afternoon after school and costume tryouts. Instead, Richie laid the other teen out and kissed the tension out of him, their bodies close and side by side on the bed, his arm sandwiched uncomfortably under the hard line of Virgil across from him and everything from chest to groin pressed against each other languidly. 

The way they shared heat was crazy to Richie, the temperature upping every time they touched; he pulled away from each slick kiss and swallowed moan thinking there was no way the temperature could inch further, thinking this time was it, was where it maxed out, but the roll of Virgil’s body and the hot little aborted sounds he made kept nudging the temperature anyways, heedless of the improbable.

In that respect, it had been no use getting dressed again. Richie only lasted fifteen minutes of touching and skimming his hands under Virgil’s thin wifebeater, licking every moan he could out of his friend, before pulling back to tear off his t-shirt and pushing back against V with bare skin. Virgil hadn’t lasted very long after that either, separating in the middle of a kiss to shimmy out of his own shirt before delving back into the furnace of the blonde’s arms. 

It had also taken Richie only fifteen minutes to discover that Virgil’s neck and, very specifically, chest, were sensitive even to just his fingertips.

Which meant that an hour in had found Virgil laid up underneath Richie, the blonde trailing soft fingers and kisses down the dark, muscled chest and back up to his neck again, Virgil trembling and hot on top of the comforter. 

“Unh, unh, Richie—”

“Found it,” Rich whispered dark and sinful against V’s skin, tracing his tongue down the lines of Virgil’s neck as he left behind a mark deep under Virgil’s jaw. “Is it right there, V? Yeah?”

Worshipful, stupidly smart hands pressed into all that skin, rubbing tenderly and so light that V’s nerves were all lit up about it, stupid thumb pressing and circling some inane spot under his left pec that felt so damn good Virgil couldn’t keep his mouth shut even though Sharon was downstairs and his face was turned into the pillow. Richie thanked whoever he needed to mentally when he heard the strains of television talk shows floating up the stairs, fitting his teeth around the absurdly pleasureable spot and making Virgil arch underneath him so prettily. 

He left a hickey there too, sucked hard to make the color bloom on the dark canvas, before he shifted over the lean abdomen of Virgil and kissed his way down the landscape of his abs and sides, pausing to bite or suck here and there, sloppy-wet open kisses reverberating around the room as Virg’s hand clenched at the base of the blonde’s neck. 

Soon, Richie found another place to turn the key in the ignition, somewhere alongside V’s right side as Richie bent over the width of his torso and mouthed at spots at random. Right up against Virgil’s last rib was a spot that, as Rich brushed it, made Virgil almost bend off the bed, shaking. 

“Richie! Fuck, man, fuck.”

V was trembling by then, hands fitting firmly into Richie’s hair to drag him up Virgil’s body to kiss, and kiss, and kiss more, and by the time Virgil had unfit his shaky hands from his friend’s hair he was pressing the genius into his own mattress. Richie tried to remember how to breathe and realized it wouldn’t do him any good when Virgil pinned an errant wrist to the pillows and bit at his chin. His chest arched up into Virgil’s body weight pinning him as the blonde tried to tug free and found (with a quiet thrill down his spine) that he couldn’t.

“Nnh, V, let me up. Can’t do anything if you’ve got my hands.”

Virgil leaned in close, so close that Richie could feel his breath warming pale skin and the pillow he rested on. For a moment, Rich thought that Virgil would just kiss his ear and continue down his neck; he wasn’t bargaining on Virgil fitting gentle teeth around the pink shell of it, then running the tip of his tongue smoothly over the reddened skin—

By the next moment, when Virgil had chosen to nip at his neck softly, Richie was squirming because of the sting in his ears. 

"Maybe," V said, bringing his leg up tighter so that Richie's hips rolled into the pressure of their own accord, "I know that, Rich, huh?" He switched the pale wrists to just one of his hands, and leaned down to kiss Richie filthily.

"Maybe this is where I want you, baby."

Almost desperately, Richie struggled, being so firmly held that the most he could do was shimmy his hips a little. He didn't think anything could get him wound tighter than Virgil did, but it turned out that Virgil emphatically showing that he wanted to fuck with Richie cranked his chain even tighter. Virgil only chuckled, kissing him again and again with blinding intensity, his mouth fitting against Richie's own and then against his neck, his nipples, his chest. 

When Richie felt stars prick sharp edges into his consciousness as V started to bite at his nipples (they were sensitive, awfully so, and Richie didn't know it but V was doing it all for the bitten off sounds coming from his throat), he cried out before he could think, shimmying amped up to a hundred.

"Fuck, Virg, that's— it's, shit, unh, please—"

And then their cocks slotted together, and Virgil bowed his head over Richie's chest, sound punching out of him.

"Oh my _god_ , Rich, stop— hn—moving..."

But Richie planted his feet wide on the bed on and rolled again, liking the sticky hot lightning at the base of his spine and the feeling of bruises forming on his wrists. Again, and again, and Virgil had planted his hands on either side of Richie's head, making hurt sounds with how good it felt. His hips moved in tandem with Richie.

Reaching up to find V's slack mouth and press gentling kisses there, Richie turned them on their sides and threw a leg over V's hip, seeking more. It almost worked; he could feel the warmth of V next to him, but the friction was nowhere near enough in shiny basketball shorts and jeans.

Virgil was the first to push down his shorts, eyes squeezed shut and one hand curled into the waistband of Richie’s jeans. The way he pulled in air was making Richie lightheaded, all too fast with not enough substance. The blonde pulled back, a hand on Virgil's stomach that stroked carefully.

"Are we still okay?"

Virgil, with wild eyes and trembling hands, seemed to catch his breath and catch himself. He squeezed Richie's shoulders, smile a little nervous but reassuring.

"We'd be more okay if you got with the program, Osgood."

Richie made sure to elbow him friendly-like as he reached down for his fly, undoing it quickly and pushing his underwear down. His cock, naked, was flushed almost angrily, the color prominent. He gave himself a stroke almost absentmindedly as V’s eyes traced the outline of it. Richie saw Virgil’s tongue pass over his lips, once, and he couldn’t help that he needed that mouth on his again, as soon as possible.

Virgil arched into the touch of a pale hand threading through his hair, and into the touch Richie’s mouth to his, but then into the feeling of being _close_ , so close, the hard hot lines of their cocks fitting together, too much feeling coming from everywhere all at once—

“Richie, please, _please._ ”

Virgil was writhing in his arms, every kiss pressed into that invitingly dark skin making him shake just a little more, and Richie whined with how much need he could feel from him. 

“V, come on, c’mere,” he murmured, and fit a long fingered hand around both of them, together, the blindingly good tug of it almost nothing next to the weight of Virgil’s cock pressed into his own. 

The sound Virgil made was plaintive and fucking needy, and Richie wanted nothing more than to get on his knees whenever possible and wrench that sound of this beautiful fucking man. Hot hands fit themselves around his shoulders as Virgil fucked into Richie’s teasing grip, and the sound Virgil made when Richie swiped a thumb over the heads of both of them made his balls tighten up. 

In the next instant, Richie was being kissed within an inch of his life, Virgil somehow between his legs as he was being pressed back into the bed, and V broke off to pant and stare down at his hand still moving, forehead pressed into pale chest as Virgil’s moans hitched and hitched again. 

“Your fucking hands, Rich, Jesus, so fucking good—”

Richie swept over their heads again, thumb gathering and teasing out precome, and Virgil moaned lowly, coming back up to kiss the base of Richie’s neck, mouth hot at his collarbone, and Rich arched up desperately into it, the sticky lightning at his spine sparking in his elbows, in the pit of his stomach, drawing down to his cock. 

“Not gonna last, V, oh fuck—”

“M-me too, Richie, c’mon, come _on_ —”

Richie bit into the fist of his other hand as he came, hips moving into Virgil’s erratically, and he keened again as the press of Virgil’s mouth became a stinging bite to the base of his neck, Virgil coming soon after the blonde. Come was pretty gross-feeling any other day, but Richie gasped at the feel of his own and Virgil's pooling together on his stomach. 

Virgil was still groaning after his cock gave out, gasping and trembly, and Richie didn’t realize it was because his hand still caressed the line of V’s cock until the other man pushed away his hand with a shaky laugh. 

“Stop it, Osgood, give a guy some time to breathe.”


	4. I Didn't Realize You Were Going Crazy Too

Virgil made a face at Richie after a couple of minutes, and Richie groaned his way into a laugh as he scooped a pair of pants off of the floor and beelined towards the bathroom. The yellow-bright light in the bathroom was unforgivingly stark, showing Richie a white-lit picture of himself in the mirror, his hair sticking up soft and hay-like, his neck and chest and ears marked with little red spots. He could see the shiny, slightly dry goop of come on his skin, and though he tried to be disgusted by it, Richie was failing.

 

What really caught the teen's eye, out of all his bruises, was a deep red-pink bruise forming at the base of his neck where Virgil had bitten him as he was coming. The sight of it and the memory of it had Richie clenching the counter top, arousal trying to pool in his abdomen once again. 

 

With quick and trembling hands Richie snagged a washcloth from the closet and soaped it up, cleaning himself off perfunctorily before he rinsed, soaped again, and rushed back to V's room. 

 

Virgil was laid out in bed lavishly, smug and sex-sated in such a satisfied way Richie wanted to break him again. Instead, the blonde handed over the wash cloth and sat on the edge of the bed. With a grin   
Virgil plucked the washcloth out of Rich's fingers and began to clean his hands.

 

"Hm, Virgil?"

 

V was busy with the edges of his fingertips, and he hmmed absently at his friend. Richie took a steadying breath and laid a hand on Virgil’s calf, fingers playing with the edge of muscle they found. 

 

“We probably should talk, still.”

 

Virgil’s eyes met Richie’s slowly, but the way he pulled Richie into a gentle kiss was nothing other than accepting. “Sure, Rich,” the other said, his forehead pressed into the flaxen bangs of the genius. “Whatever you wanna talk about, I’m all ears.”

 

____________

 

Richie yanked on the collar of his shirt, hoping to hide his hickey. 

 

“Dammit, V, I swear to my fucking computer--”

 

“Oh, so it’s a fucking computer now? You put a new program on it?”

 

Virgil snickered and caught Richie around the waist again, pinning him on the couch as they watched Lord of the Rings. Vaguely, Richie could hear Pippin and Merry, something or other about pints, and he groaned, trying to wriggle out of his friend’s heavy grip. If he missed his favorite scene because of the idiot on the couch with him-- 

 

Mr. Hawkins walked in just as Virgil and Richie fell off of the couch with a loud whomp. The coffee table shook, glasses rattling as someone’s elbow knocked into the table leg, and Mr. Hawkins set down his briefcase by the door and walked past with a chuckle.

 

“Good to see you, Richard.”


End file.
